


Just Breathe

by Mondhase



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Drama, Episode s05e09 Brass Tacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondhase/pseuds/Mondhase
Summary: Massive spoilers for episode 5x09 "Brass Tacks". Someone in the FBI gets shot, but will the team just give up on them, or will they keep fighting?
Kudos: 9





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Weitz deserved better. That is all.

Afreen’s eyes are glued to the glowing number above the door as she wills the elevator to go faster. Her hands are fidgeting as she is trying to suppress the slight tremble that has set in the moment she heard about Weller’s team having been arrested once again. Or ­– more precisely – the moment she heard about it from the agents who were planning to step in and stop Madeline Burke’s henchmen from causing any more damage.

There are even rumours that Madeline herself has fled the building, and with all these different information flying around, Afreen found herself unable to stay in the lab even a second longer. She needs to find out what is going on. Right now.

Or at least as soon as this stupid elevator reaches the main operations level, she thinks, her impatience rising.

 _Finally_ , the metal doors in front of her slide open, revealing the large open area at the heart of the FBI’s New York field office. Scattered papers litter the floor, a couple of chairs have been tossed over and she can even spot several black-clad bodies lying towards the back of the room, unmoving. Their unusual clothing reveals them to be part of Ivy Sands’ mercenaries, however, and so Afreen is not exactly bothered by their condition.

Instead, her focus is pulled immediately towards the small group of people huddled around a desk close to the elevator:

Patterson, Rich Dotcom and his partner Boston Arliss Crab.

“I came as soon as I—” Afreen begins as she approaches the group, only to break off the instance she spots a fourth person she has not notice before. Someone who is not even supposed to be in the building anymore.

Director Weitz is on the floor, awkwardly propped up against a fallen over chair, while Patterson is pressing a piece of cloth against a massive red stain on his white-blue shirt.

Afreen feels as if she can literally watch the blood pouring from the director’s wound, Patterson’s careful attempts at stopping it making no difference. Her mouth falls open in shock at the unexpected sight, her mind futilely trying to make sense of it. Fear and confusion are etched into her features as she finally sinks to her knees next to the wounded man. 

“Hey, Afreen. How’s your day going?” he quips, yet she can hear the strain in his voice, the breathlessness caused by trying to fight off the pain.

“Why didn’t you leave?” she asks tenderly. “You always leave, you...you didn’t have to come back.” Deep down she knows that the answers to these questions are of absolutely no importance right now, and yet she has to know. She has to know, because her logically working mind is utterly failing to explain how this complete mess of a director – this _coward_ , as she has already pegged him ­– has somehow found himself here right in the thick of things, at what has obviously been the wrong end of a gun.

His breathing is heavy as Weitz keeps focusing on her, his eyes drooping dangerously.

“I a thousand percent agree,” he remarks, while actually making the effort of lifting his hand in her direction to underline his point. “Should have stayed a selfish jerk instead of coming back to help these stupids.” He looks over at Rich at these words, but Afreen does not see the hacker’s reaction. Her eyes are glued to the director’s pained expression instead as he continues. “That’s the price you pay for doing the right thing, I guess.”

Afreen has no idea what to think anymore. A part of her is just so unbelievably grateful and... _proud_ even, that Weitz has chosen to be the good man she knew he could be and yet... And yet another part of her cannot help but feel guilty for pushing him towards a course of action that has ended here with him on the ground, a bullet embedded in his stomach.

She wants to take Weitz’s hand and assure him that he is going to be alright, that he doesn’t need to worry, but her lips refuse to part and her body remains frozen. All she can do is watch in silence as the FBI director now turns to Patterson. His voice is weakened and yet his words are as adamant and focused as she has ever heard him.

“Don’t screw this up. You take... her ass... down!”

Patterson merely nods in response, but Afreen knows her colleague well enough to know that she _means_ it. That the blonde FBI agent is not going to rest until Madeline Burke has been brought to justice for her countless crimes, this one included.

“It.. it’s okay, just hold on. Help..help’s on the way,” Boston now suddenly chimes in and it is at that moment that Afreen cannot help but feel entirely useless. She has spent these last few months at Weitz’s side, working as unlikely allies to help Weller’s team, yet for some reason she cannot even manage the small act of giving the injured man some hope in this horrible situation.

For whatever it is worth, however, the director does not seem to buy Boston’s words of comfort.

“I know, I... sure,” he replies, his voice sounding entirely unconvinced. Only when he continues, his words directed at Rich this time, does he become sincere again.

“One more thing.”

Their resident hacker crouches down at this point, his usual wise-cracking persona put on hold for the moment.

“Yah, anything.”

“At my funeral,” Director Weitz begins and Afreen can feel a tear sliding down her cheek at the mere idea of losing the man in front of her. As he goes on, however, his speech slurring and the corners of his eyes shining with unshed tears, the complete unexpectedness of his words sends a jarring mixture of amusement and complete and utter dread coursing through her.

“Don’t use the picture that the Times used when I made director. My hair was greasy.” Weitz grimaces briefly at that last part, followed by a few painful sounding gasps for air.

For a moment Afreen thinks he is going to say something else, something more... _profound_ maybe. Instead the director’s head slowly falls backwards against the chair he is leaning on until he is completely still, no sign of life remaining. His eyes, suddenly unseeing, remain half open, their unfocused gaze still directed at Rich.

Afreen does not pay any attention to the hacker, though ­– or anyone else for that matter – as her previously frozen body finally comes back under her control. She all but lunges forward, one hand seizing Weitz’s frighteningly cold one, the other taking a firm hold of his arm. Even her voice has returned, although the desperate “No!” that springs from her lips is barely more than a whisper.

“No, please!” the young woman repeats, while shaking the director’s body determinately. For a long moment she just stares into his face, hoping for any kind of reaction, but there is nothing there. Nothing but a pair of blue eyes that cannot see her any longer.

“Please,” she finally urges once more, but this time she is addressing Patterson with her words. “Please, we have to do something! We cannot just let him go like that. This... this cannot have been it!”

Patterson returns her gaze in silence and Afreen can almost see the gears underneath those blonde locks turning. They both know that if they want to have even the slightest chance of achieving _anything_ , they have no time to waste, and so Afreen pulls the one card she can still think of.

“He helped to save all of you several times over, so _please_ , don’t tell me you’re willing to give up on him just yet!”

The gears turning behind Patterson’s eyes suddenly seem to snap into position, as a look of sheer determination banishes any trace of sadness from her features.

“No. No, you’re right, we owe Weitz more than this. A lot more. Rich!” the scientist snaps, seamlessly switching into her no-nonsense professional mode. “Help me move him to the ground.”

“Yeah, sure.” Rich nods nervously as he starts moving towards Weitz’s side, opposite from Patterson. He is right next to Afreen as he comes to a halt, his eyebrows furrowed and a look of confusion filling his dark brown eyes.

“Afreen?”

“Wha—?” the woman in question begins, only to realise to her embarrassment what Rich is getting at. She is in the way. In fact, she is still kneeling by the director’s side, her hands holding onto him tightly. “Oh, right, sorry.” She lets go of Weitz’s arm immediately, but for some reason, releasing his hand from hers is not quite as easy. She has to consciously force herself to let go of him, her fingers brushing against his one last time as she finally pulls back.

Afreen has to take a steadying breath as she moves backwards, giving Rich the space he needs.

“Thanks,” he mutters and gives her a half-hearted smile, before turning back to Patterson. Together, the two computer experts carefully take hold of the FBI director and lower him to the floor, all the while the blonde scientist keeps issuing orders.

“Boston, there’s a first aid kit just down that hallway,” she explains, briefly nodding in said direction, “hurry up and get it.”

She has barely finished the sentence before the hacker scrambles to his feet and dashes off to do his part to help.

Meanwhile, Patterson does not miss a beat, either.

“Rich, you know CPR, right?”

“After spending months on the run with a bunch of crazy trouble magnets? You bet I do,” the former criminal mastermind replies matter-of-factly, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. 

Patterson merely rewards that comment with a salty glare, before focusing back on the problem at hand.

“Alright, you do the chest compressions, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Okay, copy that.” Rich does not seem particularly excited at the prospect of having someone’s life in his hands, but he does not hesitate to position his hands over Weitz’s chest.

At this point Boston returns to the group, short of breath after having run the distance. He all but slams the first aid kit onto the ground in front of him, then opens the clasps holding it close.

“Alright, getting started...” Rich announces, prompting a small nod from Patterson.

“Good. Boston, there should be a manual respirator inside the first aid kit, hand it to me.”

They quickly exchange the medical device, yet Afreen pays them no heed. Instead her focus is entirely on Rich right now, as he pushes the heels of his hands down on Director Weitz’s chest in a steady rhythm. His lips are moving silently as he counts along, his features strained in concentration. After a few seconds he pulls back, his eyes finding Patterson’s.

“Your turn!”

The scientist quickly moves to tilt Weitz’s head back, then places the respirator on his deathly pale face.

“One, two,” she, too, counts along, then quickly falls back and indicates for Rich to resume his strenuous work.

Afreen can do nothing but watch as her colleagues fall into a steady rhythm, each movement perfectly in-sync with each other. She knows that the two made a good team before, but now, after spending months on the run together, they have become a well-oiled machine, two people acting as one.

She herself is kneeling behind the director’s head by now, her eyes glued to his features as she prays for any sign, no matter how small, that their efforts are not being made in vain.

After Patterson finishes another round of ventilation, Afreen notices a strand of Weitz’s hair that has fallen out of place. She reaches out instinctively, her fingertips gently tugging the brown lock back where it belongs. For some reason, however, she does not pull her hand back at this point. Instead, her fingers begin to smooth out some more unruly hair and the gesture feels so natural to her that she keeps going without even thinking about it.

Rich’s strained breaths as he pushes down on Weitz’s chest and the occasional hissing of the ventilator are the only sounds filling the air. Otherwise it is eerily silent, considering the chaos around them. Warnings to evacuate are still flashing on the monitors all over the office space, but Afreen does not even notice them anymore. The world outside their small circle has disappeared, even time itself losing all meaning. She has no idea how long it has been since the director has stopped breathing. Somehow it feels like hours to her, but she knows that it could not have been more than a few minutes at most.

“Please, wake up,” she whispers to the unmoving figure below her, but there is still no change. Weitz’s features remain slack, a grating departure from his usual animated awkwardness that she has grown so accustomed to.

Her left hand still caressing the director’s hair, Afreen rubs at her face with the other to wipe off the tears that have been running down her cheeks. She stops mid-motion, though, as a horrible crunching sound suddenly rips through the air, startling the entire group.

“Oh, god,” Rich gasps, freezing halfway through his current set of chest compressions. “what did I... did I just break his ribs?” His hands are trembling as he pulls them up in shock, a horrified look distorting his features.

It’s Patterson who reacts first, as she reaches out and pulls Rich’s arms back down.

“Yes, I think you did. But it’s okay. It happens. The important thing is that you keep going. The paramedics will be here any second now and we have to keep Weitz’s heart pumping until they do. Got it?”

“Patterson is right, Rich,” Afreen agrees with an encouraging nod as she places a hand on the distraught man’s shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. She is actually surprised at how calm and composed she sounds right now, because that could not be further away from her true feelings.

Their eyes meet for a long moment and Afreen can see a whole whirlwind of fear and doubt reflected on Rich’s face. In the end, however, the hacker nods repeatedly and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Yes, of course, you’re both right,” he points out, while placing his hands once more on Weitz’s chest, gingerly at first. “I mean, I would take a broken rib any day if that means my heart’s gonna keep beating. No big deal, really.” The certainty of his words is somewhat diminished by the tremor in his voice, yet Rich does not hesitate any longer to resume his task. He presses his hands down hard, this time counting along loudly as he finishes his set of compressions.

Patterson gives him a grateful smile and a small nod as she moves to supply the director with air once again. Soon enough, the two have returned to their previous rhythm and Afreen lets out a deep breath she only now realises she has been holding.

She gives Rich’s shoulder another brief squeeze before letting go of him again. Instead she focuses back on the man lying in front of her and a moment later she is cradling his head in her hands, her thumbs stroking in small circles across his temples.

“Come back, please!” she whispers insistently, hoping beyond hope that Weitz can somehow hear her. “We’re not giving up on you, so you do not get to give up, either, is that understood?” she demands, her voice sharper than she originally intended.

The moment prompts Afreen’s thoughts to jump back to earlier today, when the director complained about the way she was speaking to him, given his superior position. A wistful smile appears on her lips at the memory and she has to stifle a small sob as she finally continues. “And just for the record: I do not care that you are the director of the FBI, this _is_ the tone I am taking with you!”

Still entirely focused on Weitz, Afreen does not notice the genuinely amused glances the others are exchanging at her remark. She does, however, notice the sudden and violent jerk going through the previously motionless body in front of her, as does the rest of the group.

Her hands still gently holding Weitz’s head, Afreen watches with wide eyes as he draws in a laboured breath, the ragged sound of it telling her exactly how painful even this simple task has to be for him. Without realising it, she resumes to draw small circles on his temples with her thumbs, eager to do something – anything really – to help him right now.

“Weitz! Weitz, can you hear me?” Patterson asks loudly, taking charge of the situation once again. She leans forward and looks straight down at the director, waiting for him to fight his way back to consciousness.

Afreen feels as if she herself can hardly breathe as she watches the man on the ground struggle for every bit of oxygen that enters his lungs. Slowly but surely, however, his efforts seem to pay off, as his eyelids finally flutter open. His blue eyes are glazed and disoriented, their gaze darting around the room without focus.

“Hey, there you are!” Patterson smiles, while carefully placing a hand on the director’s shoulder to get his attention. “Weitz, can you hear me? It’s me, Patterson.”

His eyes actually centre on the blonde agent at this point, but Weitz still shows no sign of recognition, neither of her, nor of the entire situation around him. His breaths are shallow and almost erratic, yet his lips are moving as if he was trying to say something.

Afreen’s emotions are a jumbled mess right now. On the one hand she has never felt this relieved in her life as now that Rich and Patterson’s efforts to reanimate Weitz have actually been successful. Yet on the other hand, her heart aches seeing him like this; in pain, confused and struggling with something as elementary as breathing even. Plus, she has enough basic medical knowledge to know that even though the director is awake right now, his heart beating on its own, that does not mean it has to stay that way. He is alive again, yes, but not out of the woods by a long shot.

The look Patterson gives the director right now mirrors Afreen’s concerns, but the blonde agent doesn’t get the chance to say anything else. Instead, Afreen herself speaks up, her voice soft and gentle, meant only for Weitz.

“It’s okay, take your time. Just breathe. In and out, slow and steady. That’s all you have to do right now. Just _breathe_.” She is brushing over his cheek with the back of her fingers to underline her words, her eyes searching his to make sure he has heard her.

The director blinks a few times, as if to help him focus. Then his gaze wanders upwards until his eyes finally meet Afreen’s.

He does not show any immediate reaction to her words, but their eyes remain locked as the seconds pass on. She continues to caress his cheek in a soothing motion, her lips arched up in a supportive smile.

“Just _breathe_ ,” Afreen repeats once again and the more the moment between them stretches on, the more Weitz actually does seem to follow her instructions. His breaths are slower and deeper now, his expression focused.

“What... what happened?” he finally manages to choke out, his eyes darting to the others, before coming to rest on Patterson.

“You were shot, remember?” the scientist explains while glancing down at the wound in the injured man’s stomach. “We even lost you there for a second, but Rich and I managed to bring you back.”

The director of the FBI blinks again and a shuddering breath escapes his lips at this information. His gaze goes from Patterson to Rich and back again as he nods briefly. His expression is still strained, but the corners of his mouth shoot upwards ever so slightly as he replies.

“Well, in that case: Thank you!” he breathes, his voice weak but sincere.

Rich nods nervously, avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, uh, you’re welcome. But... I have to confess, I... I think I broke one of your ribs. Or two. I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever actually done this before. Performing CPR, I mean. Or breaking ribs, really. Neither of those.”

Afreen would have laughed at Rich’s rambling, were the situation not so entirely serious. Instead, her focus quickly shifts from the computer hacker back to the director of the FBI, as Weitz replies in a wheezy tone.

“Huh, broken ribs, you say? Yeah, makes sense.” He nods briefly in response to his own assessment, and Afreen can practically feel him taking stock of the messed up state of his rib cage. In return, his breathing seems to speed up again, but she is not willing to let him go down that path again.

“I know it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. You just need to stay calm, alright? Slow breaths.”

“Slow and steady, yeah,” Weitz repeats her words from earlier, prompting a genuine smile to spread on Afreen’s lips. He blinks a few more times, his eyelids drooping increasingly, but Afreen is not surprised. After everything the director has just been through, she knows he has to feel exhausted beyond belief.

“That’s right. Slow and steady.”

Weitz’s eyes are closed by now, but his chest is rising steadily with every breath, confirming that he is still with them. With _her_.

Afreen is so focused on the man lying in front of her, that she does not even notice the elevator doors opening. Nor does she become aware of the two paramedics that now enter the large room, pushing a stretcher between them, until the others scramble up from the floor to make room for them.

“Hey, Afreen.” For the second time within a couple of minutes, it is Rich who pulls her out of her thoughts, just in time for the new arrivals to start spreading out their medical equipment.

“What?” she blinks, wide-eyed, until she realises that the help they have been waiting for this whole time has finally arrived.

She lets out a relieved sigh, feeling as if the weight of the world has just been removed from her shoulders. As she looks down at Weitz, she gently runs her fingers through the hair on his temples in a soothing gesture, not caring that he has to be fully aware of it now.

“You see that, help is here! Everything will be okay, just hang in there!”

The director doesn’t open is eyes, and only replies with a low humming sound, but Afreen is relieved to know that he has at least still heard her.

Patterson gives the paramedics a brief run-down of the last few minutes while they check Weitz’s condition and begin to prepare him for transport. Afreen knows that she has to let go of him now and take a step back – both literally and figuratively – and yet she cannot bring herself to do so just yet.

One of the medics notices her hesitation and addresses her directly.

“Hey, you and your colleagues did a great job here – bringing him back, keeping him calm – but we’ve got it from here, alright? I promise you, your friend is in good hands.”

Afreen nods, suddenly feeling embarrassed. It is not like her to act this unprofessionally, even though she has to concede that circumstances are far beyond the ordinary, even for this agency. Still, at this point, she realises, the best thing she can do to help is just to get out of the way and let the experts do their job.

“Yes, I know, of course. I’m sorry,” she mutters as she finally let’s go of Weitz and gets back to her feet. Her hands, suddenly without purpose, are fidgeting as she joins the rest of the group, prompting her to cross her arms in front of her chest once she becomes aware of it.

“I’m sure he is going to be alright,” Rich tells her, but Afreen barely pays any attention to him.

“Yeah,” she merely replies, while her gaze is entirely focused on the scene in front of her. She watches as the paramedic who just talked to her slips an oxygen mask over the director’s face to help him breathe. Then he and his partner continue to make sure that Weitz’s condition is stable enough to transport him, before finally placing him on the stretcher they brought with them to do just that. 

Afreen is vaguely aware of Patterson and the others having a brief conversation right next to her, but none of their words actually register with her. At least not until one particular sentence manages to penetrate the bubble she has brought up around herself without realising.

“You know, maybe it would be better if someone stayed with him on the way to the hospital,” Patterson suggests, her eyes fixed on Weitz as well now.

“I’ll go,” Afreen declares, before her mind has even finished processing Patterson’s words.

“You sure?” Rich wonders, but she can tell that he is not actually surprised by her decision.

“Yes. Look, I know that all of this isn’t over, that Madeline is on the run and the ZIP is still out there, but—”

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” Patterson interrupts her. Then she reaches out and gently clasps Afreen’s hands in hers. “Honestly, I cannot thank you enough for all the help you’ve given us, but whatever else needs doing here right now, we got it. I promise you, we got it. You go and... make sure that when all of this is over, the FBI still has a director.”

“Do you really think there’s even a chance they’re going to let him keep the job once all of this gets out?” Afreen wonders, despite knowing full well that that wasn’t exactly Patterson’s point.

“Yeah... no,” the blonde agent grimaces. “ _But_ , that sounds like tomorrow’s problem to me. For now, just make sure that he keeps fighting,” she nods in Weitz’s direction, just as the medics start rolling the stretcher towards the elevator.

“Well, the same goes for you,” Afreen replies back, “ _all_ of you!” She uses this moment to give Rich, Boston and Patterson each a brief hug. As she gets to the latter, a resolute grin adorns the blond agent’s lips.

“Always!”

Before Afreen heads towards the elevator, she gives the small group in front of her a grateful smile and nods at them briefly. Then she is off, following another group, whose path is laid out much more clearly, but as of now, with an equally uncertain outcome.

For the moment, Weitz is awake, his blue eyes greeting her as she steps next to him in the elevator. She cannot know for sure whether he will survive, but as her hand instinctively finds his, she knows she has made the right decision. The team has all the help it needs; hers is needed here. And there’s no place she’d rather be.

Afreen’s eyes are glued to the man in front of her as the doors of the elevator close behind her and it starts to descend in its usual slow pace. This time, however, she does not even notice.

The End.


End file.
